


Retribution

by heeroluva



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blood, Curses, Gen, Hockey Gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hockey gods did not take kindly to unfulfilled promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retribution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/gifts).



There had always been stories about the hockey gods, rumors of what the Greats promised them in exchange for their skills, but no one ever admited what they gave up. 

The hockey gods were generous with their gifts, but many feared the price. For as generous as they might have been, they did not take kindly to unfulfilled promises. 

Mario Lemieux had promised his first born to their care, but at the sight of his wife’s tears had failed to deliver. The hockey gods could be patient, but when it became clear that Lemieux had become complacent, thinking he was safe from their wrath, the hockey gods took his health. 

However, Lemieux still found happiness without his health, and with the realization that it was hockey that would make him happy, the hockey gods set about taking that from him, cursing CONSOL with the desire for blood, a desire that grew so great, that one day the mere blood from meaningless fights wasn’t enough to satisfy its ravenous hunger.

 

Geno wasn’t nearly as superstitious as Sid, didn’t have _gut feelings_ like some of the guys, but Geno _knew_ that tonight was going to be a bad night.

The air felt heavy, oppressive, and Geno couldn’t help but shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Passes weren’t connecting and the number of collisions the team was having with its own players was unprecedented. 

Geno knew that something was wrong the instant the crowd began to scream, not the good kind, the cheers of victory, but the kind his hair stand on end and spoke of unspeakable horror. Hearing the whistle, Geno spun. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t Sidney on his knees, hands clutching at his neck and a rapidly growing pool of red on the ice in front of him. Geno didn’t remember dropping his stick or gloves, didn’t remember losing his helmet or shoving through the loose circle of shellshocked players who had gathered around Sidney, didn't notice the team doctors rushing across the ice. He didn’t remember yelling, didn’t realize that he wasn’t even speaking English unless he watched the horrifying clips days later. 

But Geno would always remember the way that Sid had raised terrified eyes to him, eyes that had begged for help before they had dimmed and fallen closed forever. 

 

The loss shattered the team and the organization and finally Lemieux. Somewhere a hockey god smiled.

(No matter how many times the ice was remade, the red stain always reappeared.)

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  ~~I'm so sorry.~~  
> 


End file.
